Smile
by einstinette
Summary: Frank advised Dean to smile, and Dean tried to the best of his ability to do so. He smiled and beneath that smile he hid all of his pain that was caused by the life that had been forced upon him. Spoilers for: 07x11. Please Read and Review. It's better than it sounds (at least I think so...)


**Smile**

Frank Devereaux was a bundle of physical and mental defects, neatly wrapped in a package of sarcasm and paranoia. He had lived through more things than most people could conjure in their worst nightmares. He'd seen the war and leaking bodies riddled with bullet holes that made human flesh look more like Swiss cheese and smell like utter decay. He'd seen his family, his wife and his children on the floor, their internal organs hanging out on display. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils and bile rose to his throat, as he was forced to swallow it down. In his later years, he had grown to question himself and the world around him as he gathered together the pieces of reality and fiction that blended so well in his mind.

But now, he was living a different life, and when he saw Bobby's boy, Dean, falling apart, he took pity on him, remembering how it felt the first time he felt his world slip between his fingers. "Decide to be fine till the end of the week. Make yourself smile because you're alive and that's your job. And do it again the next week." He knew he had smiled and laughed with the best of them, all of the while hiding how he felt inside, because even he couldn't handle the backlash of his repressed emotions or the concerned glances from people who still claimed to love him.

Dean took the advice to heart, and he found himself practicing, trying to find the perfect smile that could fool even his brother. It took him a few weeks to get it just right, and when he finished, it wasn't a Cheshire grin with a flash of teeth, or a manic beam. It was the sharp upturn of the left side of his mouth, what was to become his signature half-smile.

Behind that he hid everything that had happened in the gigantic wasteland that was his life. There was the loss of his mother, the image of her body burning on the ceiling that was permanently engraved on his mind. His father had died too, and there he was right next to her in eternity. Jo, Ellen, Ash, and so many other friends and acquaintances that had been lost to a host of monsters over the years. They were hidden in a corner where he would leave them as he tried to sleep at night.

There was his time in hell and the knowledge that he began the apocalypse by torturing souls. There was the awareness that he had enjoyed it more than he had ever loved saving people, that he received a perverse pleasure in the sound of their screams and the vibrant color of their blood.

Then it was Sam, who had fallen into the pit and emerged as a soulless beast, willing to do any and everything. And even when his soul was retrieved, they were left with the broken Sam that had his soul back but lived in constant delusions and mental instability. Dean now watched his younger brother who lived in a very literal hell every moment of his life, confusing reality and hallucinations while struggling to hunt for the greater good of all of those helpless people who never so much as offered them a "thank you." It was beyond sad, even beyond tragic.

The loss of Cas perhaps weighed the most heavily on his heart, even more so than his own brother's death. The angel had slowly become an immovable part of his family, a second brother to love and protect. Dean could still see him with the Leviathans' fists pressing against the thin barrier of flesh, stretching out and leading him into the water. His body disappeared and a pool of black smog emerged, spreading and leaving only the darkened beige of his usual trench coat.

The first days were hard. He couldn't help but believe that Castiel would appear before him with a bemused expression on his face, and return his over emotional welcome with a curt nod and his gravelly voice saying, "Dean" as he always did. But as days passed, he was forced to accept that this time the angel really was gone. God was not bringing him back, not rewarding his faithfulness anymore.

It hurt more than he could say, losing Cas all over again. For a while he lived in a black mess of a maze, trying not to break again, and he always failed, because his mind was stuck in that murky water where his closest friend had disappeared, had died. That too was now buried beneath this lopsided smile.

Perhaps, he could have taken all of that, even shaken it off with enough time, but with the final loss, he felt himself shatter to the point of no return. Bobby, the closest thing that he had to a dad left, the man who had cared for him and his brother when their own father was spiraling down a road to self-destruction. He was the one taught him to play catch instead of training him, who gave him his first beer, and taught him about girls. He was always there to help on a case whether as a director of the FBI or with quick hands to research how to kill something that they had never seen before.

Bobby Singer had stared death in face more times than he could count, but somehow he had always came out of it relatively unscathed. It hurt Dean in immeasurable ways to know that something as lowly as Dick Roman had killed him. That wasn't right, and Bobby deserved more. He should have died old and fat in bed or because of liver damage from his lifelong use of alcohol, but not like this, not with a bullet in the head in some hospital bed.

But now he was gone, and he used his last breath for them, scribbling the numbers that changed everything. And Dean had been forced to watch as the light faded out of his eyes and he uttered his last word, "Idjits," before he was gone forever.

Dean was falling apart, done with the life and the job. Damn everyone else. He'd spent his life saving humanity, and it was never enough, because around every corner, was another monster, another threat. And even when they succeeded, no one appreciated it. That was too much for any one man to handle, and he was ready to stop trying, but he couldn't.

He couldn't give up on everything that he believed in because if he wasn't a hunter, he didn't know what he would be. So, he would listen to Frank and he would smile for all he was worth. He'd lock all of that pain and anger in a box in the darkest corner of his mind and try to forget, and when he couldn't, he'd just smile harder. He'd laugh and joke with Sam, and find a way to murder Dick Roman, to have his head on a spit.

Until then, he would work the job. The meager hauntings, the shifters, the vampires, and all of those other monsters that they had seen time and time again. All the while, he would smile, smile so hard that his jaws hurt, and he would save his break down, all of the emotional backwash for his pillow late at night, because that was the only safe moment that he had in his life now. That was it, because weakness was no longer an option.

**A/N:**

**Whoo! It's the summer before my freshman year of college, and I plan to donate a good portion of that time to you people (mainly so I don't explode from mental distress).**

**Anyway, thanks for reading all of this. I hope you enjoyed another Supernatural story that began as yet another challenge with my best friend. Tell me what you think about it! Remember, reviews feed me and I'm not afraid of the flames.**

_**Remember: Reviews= happy camper. Happy camper= quicker updates. Quicker updates= you reading more. It's a cycle keep it going!**_

**Yours truly, madly, and deeply,**

**Einstinette**


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